Of Wolf And Man: From Childhood's Hour
by AlElizabeth
Summary: AU. Dean is 18, Sam is 14. After a werewolf hunt turns devastating, Dean and John must live with the consequences and work together to protect their youngest.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Devils Lake, North Dakota_

Dean Winchester stepped on a fallen tree branch, grimacing silently as it snapped, the sound echoing throughout the wooded area.

He looked up and saw his father and younger brother walking a few feet away from him. Close enough so they could easily see each other but not close enough to make them easy targets for their prey.

It was the last night of the full moon and their last chance to kill the werewolf that had been terrorizing the residents of the sleepy, little city. If they didn't get the beast that night, they'd have to wait a whole month! But Dean knew his father was pretty sure the werewolf was the principal of the Devils Lake High School.

The rustle of leaves off to Dean's right had him sweeping the bushes with his flashlight, silver-loaded gun aimed and ready.

A white-tailed deer burst from the underbrush and Dean stumbled back, startled.

Dean jumped again when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see his father.

"The beast must be close," John said in a barely perceptible whisper.

Dean nodded and his father moved silently away. The young man scolded himself for being such a coward. He had hunted werewolves before; he should be used to surprises.

Dean's gaze traveled to his younger brother, walking carefully a few feet ahead of him. He frowned. Their Dad was supposed to be point! Sam must have gotten ahead of them.

"Sam!" Dean hissed, trying to get his brother's attention.

The younger boy looked over his shoulder and stopped walking. John stepped out of the shadows and spoke to his youngest son, his words too quiet for Dean to hear. Sam nodded and nimbly walked back toward his older brother.

Dean caught his father's eye and lowered his chin. He knew his job was to be backup and protect his younger brother. Sam wasn't even supposed to be with them- he should be back with the Impala like he usually was- but there were no other hunters in the area available and a werewolf hunt took more than two men. Reluctantly, John had given his youngest son a gun, a flashlight and explicit instructions to follow his and Dean's orders. So far Sam had done well, seeming to enjoy being allowed to hunt along with his family instead of being left alone in the car, more than anything else.

The three Winchesters stepped forward another few meters, ears and eyes alert for any sign of trouble. Dean was getting worried that the werewolf wouldn't show up. Its first victims had been killed only a few dozen feet into the woods and by now they were miles into the densely forested area.

Maybe it caught onto us and found a new hunting ground, Dean thought and wondered if he should tell his Dad his concern.

A low growl off to his left captured Dean's attention and he halted, gun and flashlight poised. From the corner of his eye he saw his father and brother stop as well.

Another growl sounded, this ending in a low whine. Dean heard his father's heavier footsteps moving closer toward the source of the noise.

Without warning the werewolf leaped forward, clipping Dean and sending his flashlight to the forest floor where it smashed against a rock and went out. The young man grabbed onto a sapling to keep from ending up on his ass.

"SAM!" Both Dean and John shouted out as the monster landed on their youngest, sending him to the ground under its immense weight.

Dean lifted his gun and took a shot; the bloated moon casting the wolf's massive back in silhouette against its cold, white light.

The bullet grazed the werewolf's shoulder but it was enough. The creature reared up on its hind legs, its chest exposed.

The crack of a gun made Dean flinch uncharacteristically and the monster howled before toppling over. As the wolf died, it transformed back into its human form. Dean didn't even spare the time to realize that his father's suspicion had been correct as he rushed past the naked corpse of Principal Richards.

Dean fell to his knees beside his little brother. Even in the moonlight he could see that the front of Sam's jacket was soaked through with blood.

"Oh God, Sammy," Dean cursed and felt tears well up in his eyes at the sight of his brother's blood.

John kicked the werewolf's body out of the way and crouched down, his flashlight illuminating Sam's prone form.

"He's still breathing, Dad! He's still alive!" Dean exclaimed as he bent over Sam's face.

"We have to get him out of here, Dean," John's voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

Gently, Dean slipped an arm underneath his brother's shoulders and an arm underneath his knees, lifting him up.

"I'll come back later and deal with this," John motioned with his flashlight at the corpse.

Dean nodded but his attention was focused wholly on his brother.

"I…uh, I think he dropped his gun," Dean told his father, "When he got hit, you know?"

John nodded and found the weapon a few feet away from where the werewolf had attacked. He brushed dirt off the pistol and put the safety on before slipping it into his jacket pocket along with his own weapon.

_W_

Dean resisted the urge, the voice, that was telling him to full-out run with his brother to the Impala as fast as he could go.

He could hear Sam's breathing but his stillness worried Dean. There was no way to tell how badly he had been hurt until they had more light. Dean fought back tears. He couldn't lose Sam, he just couldn't!

As Dean walked he muttered comfortingly to his brother, unsure if Sam could actually hear him.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean cooed, "Don't worry… we'll have you fixed up in no time."

John was silent as he followed his oldest son through the forest but Dean was sure he was keeping an eye open for any nocturnal predator that might be drawn to the smell of blood. The hunter didn't kid himself, although the biggest threat was dead, there were still regular wolves and bears in the area.

Dean could have cried with relief when the Impala came into view, like their savior.

John unlocked the car's back door and Dean laid his brother down on the bench seat. There was little they could do for Sam until they got back to the motel but John grabbed a thick, wooly blanket from the trunk and handed it to his eldest son.

Dean climbed into the backseat with his brother, cocooning him in the blanket and sat with Sam's head and upper-body on his lap.

Dean ran a shaking hand through his brother's long, dark brown hair reassuringly.

The drive back to the motel that had taken the Winchesters a half hour earlier that day seemed to take only seconds now. Dean blinked as the Impala stopped in the pool of light from the light outside their room.

Dean jumped when his father opened the back door and held his arms out.

"Pass Sam to me," He instructed in a no-nonsense though, fearful voice, "Now, Dean!"

It was dark still and deathly quiet. No one would be paying any attention to them.

Carefully, Dean hoisted his brother's still form up and John grabbed his youngest son.

Dean followed silently as John unlocked the door to their motel room and stepped inside, turning on all the lights.

Dean stepped over the salt line and closed the door behind him, locking it as John laid Sam down on one of the beds.

Now that they were in the brightly lit motel room, Dean could see San's jacket was soaked through with blood and his heart leaped into his throat at how pale his younger brother was.

"Help me get his clothes," John had begun peeling Sam's windbreaker off, his voice full of worry.

Dean stepped forward and tore Sam's t-shirt down the middle so he wouldn't have to try and wrestle his brother out of the bloodied garment.

"No," Dean breathed when he saw the amount of blood on Sam's narrow chest.

All Dean could do was pray that the werewolf hadn't bitten his brother. Although a werewolf's claws were razor sharp they didn't have venom, unlike its dagger-like teeth.

John rummaged around in his duffle bag before pulling out a flask of holy water. He uncapped the bottle and held it over his son's abdomen.

The smell of blood in the room was cloying and both older Winchesters wrinkled their noses at the coppery tang.

"Better grab a washcloth, Dean," John suggested and Dean came back from the tiny bathroom with all four of the cloths provided and a couple of threadbare white towels.

John carefully poured the water over his youngest son's chest and belly while Dean mopped up the mess gently with a washcloth.

As the two worked, they could see red gashes criss-crossing Sam's chest. Dean grimaced at the cuts and was glad his younger brother was unconscious.

"Hold on Dad, there's another on his shoulder," Dean pulled his brother's shirt down to expose his left shoulder and gasped, "Oh my God."

Both John and Dean stared unbelievingly at the bite on Sam's shoulder. The wounds were deep and dark red with black bruising already surrounding them.

Quickly, John splashed holy water onto the marks and let out a groan when they sizzled and steamed.

Dean's heart had lodged in his throat so that he couldn't seem to catch a breath.

No, Dean thought frantically as he wiped holy water away from the injured shoulder; no, no way, this can't be happening!

"D-Dad?" Dean said in a small, scared voice and looked frightfully up at his father, waiting for a reaction.

"FUCK!" John shouted and threw the flask of holy water to the floor, "God damn it!"

John raised his hands to the sides of his head and gripped tufts of his black hair in his fists, his face turning red in anger.

"M-maybe the holy water'll fix it," Dean suggested hopefully and stood to retrieve the flask.

This couldn't be happening, not now, not tonight. This was Sam's first werewolf hunt and it wasn't supposed to end like this! Sam was only fourteen fucking years old for God's sake!

"You'll be alright, Sammy," Dean whispered, "You'll see. Dad n' me will fix you up good as new."

Through tear-filled eyes John looked at his sons.

"Dean, we have to… Son, Sammy's been bitten," He said in a broken voice, "You know what we have to do."

Dean froze in the act of wiping still-seeping blood from the cuts in his brother's chest and turned large eyes to his father.

Dean knew that they wouldn't have a choice. They were hunters and Sam had just been marked by one of the creatures they hunted. Dean watched as John pulled his gun from his jacket and took the safety off.

John closed his eyes when a soft moan escaped Sam's lips and his green eyes opened to slits.

"D'n?" He breathed and Dean grabbed his little brother's hand.

"Hey, Midget," Dean gave a watery smile.

"H-hurs' D'n," Sam whispered and his eyes widened.

"I know buddy," Dean said and gave his brother's hand a squeeze, "It'll go away in a minute."

Dean released his brother's hand and sat back, looking at their father.

John still had his gun pointed at his youngest son's chest but his hand trembled. Sam looked so tiny, so pale and vulnerable. He was in pain and had no idea what was going on. John simply couldn't imagine his little boy as a bloodthirsty werewolf but he knew that it didn't matter what he imagined because it was real, no matter what he thought.

He saw tears spilling silently down his oldest son's cheeks- John didn't think Dean even knew he was crying- and his hands clenched into fists.

"Dad?" Sam said in a small voice and that broke John. He lowered the weapon and set it aside.

John grabbed a First Aid Kit instead and moved to his boy's side. Dean was staring at him with wide, shocked, hopeful eyes.

John nodded that it was okay and Dean gave a choked sob of relief.

_SPN_

For the next hour the two eldest Winchesters worked to patch up their youngest. Dean and John didn't speak except to ask for this or that from the First Aid Kit.

Sam had passed out not long after waking up and that made all the stitching and bandaging go a whole lot faster.

Once Sam was comfortable and in no more immediate danger, John left his sons to finish cleaning up the mess in the forest… and do some serious thinking.

John drove slowly. He was in no hurry- the werewolf was dead and the people of Devils Lake were safe- but not his son… oh God, why did it have to be his son?

John's hands tightened on the Impala's steering wheel. He never should have taken Sam along on the hunt. This was his fault. He should have just taken Dean… Sam didn't have nearly enough experience with something as dangerous as a rabid, foaming werewolf.

John parked the Impala at the same spot as before and gathered the supplies he'd need from the trunk- a can of gasoline, salt, a couple books of matches and a shovel- before slamming the lid shut and marching off through the underbrush.

He should have been watching out for his son. Now Sam was paying the price for John's stupidity.

The older hunter didn't know what he was going to do. There was no way in Hell he could shoot his boy, even if he did become a werewolf. Sure, John would kill any monster out there but when that monster was his son…

He found the body of the late Principal Richards and spared a sad look at the unfortunate man, knowing it wasn't his fault he had become a monster. John sighed and set down his tools to begin searching for cordwood to build a pyre.

John prayed that Dean was right and that the holy water would purify the wound in Sam's shoulder, burn away the werewolf venom… but he knew he wouldn't be that lucky. They were too late. The werewolf poison was already flowing through his youngest son's veins.

He swept an area of the forest floor clear of debris and settled the dead man's body into a more dignified position. Next, John carefully surrounded the corpse with branches and dry leaves until it was completely covered.

There has to be something, John thought, some sort of cure out there for Sam. He determined to find a way to make his son human again, to make up for _his _mistake. John would research and talk to anyone who might have an idea about werewolves. Surely, they'd been around long enough someone would have created a cure.

John threw great handfuls of salt onto the construction of branches and leaves. Once he was satisfied, he uncapped the can of gasoline and doused the pyre with the flammable liquid, watching the salt crystals melt in the gasoline.

They'd take precautions, make sure Sam's life remained as normal as possible. He could still go to school and even hunt with them. No one would have to know the truth about him. John and Dean would be careful around other hunters. John already trusted very few in the hunting community and he knew that when it came to his brother's safety, Dean was more protective than a mother Grizzly bear with her cub.

John took a book of matches from his pocket and flicked the tip of one against the striking surface. He peered into the tiny flame for a moment- blue surrounded by orange- and thought about how he'd almost been prepared to shoot his own son, how he might have been doing this for Sam right now.

John tossed the match onto the pyre and watched as the gasoline and dry wood caught fire quickly.

Never again would John even think about killing his son. There was still a chance… there was always a chance and he would make things right again.

John didn't notice the tears that were leaking down his face as the fire consumed the pyre. When Sam was feeling better they'd go to Bobby's and stay there for while. John thought that there had to be something in the older hunter's extensive collection that could help Sammy and even if there wasn't, well, Bobby had connections that John couldn't even dream of.

Once the flames had died down to embers, John turned them over a couple of times with the spade he had brought to make sure there was no evidence left behind.

He walked a little faster back to the Impala, eager to tell Dean his decision and get out of Devils Lake.

Don't worry, Sammy, John sent the thought out to his youngest son as though the boy would be able to hear it, I'll fix this. I'll make everything better.

**1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound.**

**2. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

As soon as John left to take care of the werewolf Dean crawled into bed beside his brother- something he hadn't done since the both of them were very young- and leaned against the headrest with Sam's upper body against his torso.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's middle, holding him gently, and just concentrated on the sound of his breathing, of the feeling of his chest rising and falling.

This is my fault, Dean thought; Dad told me to protect Sammy- that's _my _job- and I nearly got him killed tonight.

Dean decided that he would make it up to his brother, he would protect Sammy even better now that he'd seen what could happen if he made a mistake.

"Don't worry Sam," Dean whispered to his sleeping brother, "I'll protect you. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Dean blinked away the tears that were threatening to overflow (again) and sniffed.

"Dad and I will figure out how to fix this," He promised, speaking in an even softer tone.

Sam shifted in Dean's arms and let out a moan. Dean put his palm against his brother's forehead to check his temperature.

Dean sighed and hugged his brother tighter. Sam's skin was hot and clammy.

"Don't be scared, Sammy," Dean whispered in a watery voice, "I've gotcha."

The past few hours had been physically and emotionally draining and he was exhausted. Dean laid his head back against the wooden headboard and closed his eyes.

_W_

Dean woke suddenly at the sound of the motel door opening. His entire body tensed up, ready to protect Sam when John stepped inside, a greasy take-out bag clutched in one hand and drink tray with coffees in the other.

"Shhh," Dean put a finger to his lips and indicated his still-sleeping brother.

John smiled apologetically and sat the bag of food on the table.

Dean squirmed out from under his brother, propping him up against the pillows and went to greet their father.

"Did you get things sorted out?" Dean asked as he rooted around in the take-out bag.

"Once Sammy's feeling up to it I'd like to head over to Bobby's," John said quietly.

Dean looked up at his father in surprise. John and Bobby had had a falling out several years ago and at the time it seemed as if the two men hated each other so much they would never set foot in the same state again.

Dean smiled at the thought of seeing Bobby… even if the circumstances surrounding their visit weren't great. He missed the burley, crass hunter; the man was like another father to him and Sam.

"He wake up yet?" John asked as Dean pulled a foil-wrapped breakfast sandwich from the bag.

Dean shook his head, "Maybe we should just let him sleep… to recuperate, you know?"

Truthfully, Dean didn't want his brother to wake up anytime soon because if Sam woke up that meant they'd have to tell him what had happened… And Dean was not in the mood to drop that little present into his brother's lap.

John nodded, "The kid needs all the rest he can get right now."

The two eldest Winchesters ate their breakfast in silence. Both took turns- it seemed- to glance in the direction of their injured family member but neither said anything about it.

"I think Sam's getting a fever," Dean mumbled as he stuffed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

John immediately got up and went to his youngest son's side. He placed a large, calloused hand on Sam's forehead and frowned.

"Did you check the dressing?" John asked Dean and the young man shook his head.

"We just put 'em on!" He argued defensively.

John ignored his son and pulled the covers away from his sleeping youngest to expose his chest.

Dean watched, slightly irritated, as his father checked underneath his brother's bandages and then shook his head, returning to the table.

"I think he'll be fine," John commented, "He's not bleeding and although he's a little warm I think it's mostly from the injury and not fever."

That relaxed Dean somewhat. He leaned back in his chair and gulped down some of his coffee.

"You think Bobby will be able to help?" Dean asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

John ran a hand through his black hair, "I hope so. At any rate, Sam will be safest at the Salvage Yard."

Dean nodded. His father looked willing to call off any hunting for a while… at least until they had explained everything to Sam and had figured out what they were going to do.

_W_

Dean stayed in the motel room with his sleeping brother for the rest of the day. He didn't mind, really; after all it was his job to look after Sam.

He watched television for a while before he began to pace around the motel room, casting worried glances at his brother.

Sam shifted in bed and his head moved from side to side.

"Hey," Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed and brushed Sam's bangs away from his brow, "It's okay."

"Huuuhh," Sam groaned. Dean leaned closer to his brother, knowing he was having a nightmare- something Sam had been prone to ever since he was a little boy- and could feel the heat radiating off him.

Sam's legs moved under the covers, kicking out.

"Sammy," Dean laid a cool hand on his sibling's forehead, "Take it easy. It's okay."

Sam's eyes darted beneath their lids and opened slightly, the dark green just peeping through, "D'n?"

"Yeah," Dean gave a half-hearted smile, "I'm right here, buddy."

"Daaa?" Sam and tried to sit up, still mostly asleep.

Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's shoulders, propping up the pillows with his free hand, "Hang on a sec, Sammy. There ya go."

Sam shook his head a little, as if to clear it, and blinked his eyes owlishly.

"You with me?" Dean asked and rubbed his brother's arm comfortingly.

Sam nodded slowly.

"What… happened?" Sam enunciated each word carefully.

Dean ran a hand over his face; here comes the moment of truth.

"We got the werewolf," He started off, deciding to go with the good news first.

Sam tried to smile but it came out as pained grimace.

"You want a Tylenol or something?" Dean asked concernedly.

"I'll… be okay," Sam refused.

Damn, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to stall for much longer. He had to tell Sam what had happened to him.

Sam peered down at his bandaged chest, touching the white strips tentatively.

"Am I okay?" He asked slowly and Dean gulped.

"The thing got ya… but the cuts aren't that bad," Dean whispered, sounding more confident than he actually felt. He could see his brother's eyes already beginning to close with fatigue.

"Sam!" He said loudly, "Stay awake for a minute; there… there's something else I gotta tell you."

Sam's eyes opened slightly wider, "What? Does Dad want to leave soon? Where is he?"

"Dad just went out for a little bit," Dean said, "To get lunch, I think."

"Okay," Sam said and his gaze drifted away from his brother.

"Sammy," Dean's voice grew thick, drawing his younger sibling's attention back toward him, "We killed the werewolf… but it… got you too."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, "You said I wasn't hurt too bad!"

Before his brother could panic, Dean quickly spoke, "And you are going to be okay… you are! Dad and I are gonna find a way to fix this!"

Sam froze, his eyes widening with anxiety, "W-what are you ta-talking about, Dean?"

Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's wrist, feeling his pulse hammer against his fingers, "The werewolf didn't just claw you, Sammy… it… damn it! It bit you too!"

Dean held his breath, waiting for the realization to sink in.

"N-no!" Sam stuttered, his voice full of fear, "No way, no freaking way!"

Dean nodded mutely, his eyes filling with tears, "I'm sorry."

Sam looked down at his chest and began to panic, fingers clawing at the bandages.

"Sammy," Dean cried out, "Sammy, no!"

He grabbed his brother's flailing arms and held his wrists together.

"Dean! Why?!" Sam asked, his own eyes welling up and overflowing.

Dean looked up to see their father standing in the doorway, frozen in place, staring at the scene before him.

"Why?" John rumbled, not moving from his spot, "Because I made a mistake, Sammy. I never should have taken you on the hunt with us. I should have known you weren't ready and it's my fault."

Sam stopped struggling against Dean, going limp and burying his head against his brother's chest.

"No," he mumbled, "It's not true… Please say it's not true."

"I'm sorry, son," John whispered from where he stood.

Dean let go of his brother's wrists and motioned his Dad over. He couldn't do this alone.

John took stilting steps forward and sat down on the edge of Sam's bed beside his eldest.

Sam's pale, tear-streaked face turned to his father.

"Sam, we are going to fix this," John told his boy, "I promise you that."

Sam sniffed and buried his face deeper into his brother's shirt.

John reached out and laid a hand on his boy's head. He could feel Sam shake underneath his palm.

_W_

Sam fell into a restless slumber and Dean left his side to go speak with their father.

John sat with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his fists. Dean had his arms crossed over his chest.

"How do you think he's taking it?" John asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Dean shrugged, "As well as possible, I guess."

John nodded and ran his hands through his black hair, "I think we should head out tomorrow morning."

"You think Sammy will be up to it?" Dean asked, his gaze traveling across the room to his brother.

John nodded, "He's already woken up once. He should be okay to travel."

A thought crossed Dean's mind, "Dad?"

John grunted in response to his son's lowered voice.

"What if we can't fix Sammy?" His voice trembled slightly at voicing his fear.

John's eyes turned steely, "Don't even think that, Dean! We are going to find a way to cure Sam!"

Dean nodded, "Okay."

Both Winchesters slipped into their own thoughts after that. Each praying that their worst fears would not be realized and that they would find a way to return their youngest back to normal.

_SPN_

Sam stared out the back window of the Impala as it pulled out of the motel parking lot. The drive to Bobby's would take about six and a half hours. For Sam, it felt like it would last forever. It was five forty-five in the morning- way too early to be awake- but John was impatient to get to Sioux Falls. He had told his sons that they could always sleep in the car.

Dean sat up front beside John, turning on the radio and singing along to Black Sabbath's 'Bark at the Moon' when it came on.

Sam stared blankly at the scenery they passed for a few minutes before his eyes slipped closed of their own accord and his head rested against the passenger window as he fell asleep.

_W_

Sam woke suddenly; Dean was turned around in the front seat and was shaking his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Sam groaned, peeling his eyes open to glare at his brother.

Why couldn't Dean just let him sleep?

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked, concern marring his youthful features.

Sam blinked, realizing that the Impala wasn't moving and that John wasn't in the driver's seat.

"Huh?" Sam asked and peered out the window. They were sitting in a McDonald's parking lot.

"Dad's getting us food," Dean explained needlessly, "He said you should have something to eat. You haven't eaten anything since before the hunt."

"Oh… m' not hungry," Sam said sleepily.

Dean frowned, "Ya gotta eat something, Sam. It'll help you heal."

Speaking of healing, Sam noticed belatedly that his chest was itchy. He scratched at the bandages underneath his t-shirt.

"Let me see," Dean clambered into the back seat, ignoring his brother's protests and pulled Sam's shirt up to reveal the white bandages.

Sam tried to slap his brother's hands away but Dean deftly grabbed a corner of the bandage and pulled it away from his sibling's chest.

"Huh," Dean muttered, one eyebrow raised and a half-worried half-astonished look on his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked; panic already starting to gnaw at his belly.

"You're healing really well, Sammy," Dean sat back, "Amazingly well in fact."

Sam peered at his brother curiously.

"Does your chest hurt? Or… or your shoulder?" Dean asked tentatively.

"No," Sam said in amazement, "They haven't hurt since Dad woke us up this morning."

"At all?" Dean pressed and Sam shook his head.

A tapping on the window alerted the boys that their father had returned. Dean unlocked the back passenger door and John poked his head in.

"Feeling okay, Sammy?" He asked.

"I don't think Sam needs the bandages anymore," Dean informed him darkly.

John looked surprised. He paused to sit the take-out bag on the Impala's roof and squeezed his shoulders into the back of the car.

"Take off your shirt, son," John instructed and Sam, after a moment's hesitation and glance around the quiet parking lot, complied.

Dean helped him unravel the bandages and all three Winchesters gasped at the sight revealed.

The stitches still remained in the skin of Sam's chest but the claw marks themselves were very nearly healed, a little pink and swollen but far from the open wounds they'd been only one night before.

Cautiously, Dean took the gauze padding off his brother's shoulder and revealed the bite mark. Sam turned his head and examined the healing injury- like the cuts on his chest, it was raised and pink- and gingery raised his right hand to touch it.

The inflamed skin felt slightly warmer than the area around it. Sam drew his fingers back as if he had burned himself and peered at his shocked-looking father and brother.

John pursed his lips and Dean silently handed Sam back his t-shirt.

Sam didn't really know what to think. A part of him had hoped that they had been mistaken, that they had _thought _they'd seen a bite mark in their worry but in reality, he knew he would never be that lucky.

"It'll be alright, Sam," Dean reassured his brother.

It's never going to be alright, Dean; Sam thought mutinously, I'm a monster.

Dean returned to his seat and John closed the door, lowering himself into the driver's seat. He passed the take-out bag to his oldest but none of them were in the mood to eat anymore.

**1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound.**

**2. Thanks to missingmikey, sarah, LeighAnnWallace, murphy9202, cold kagome, DidSomeoneSayDracoMalfoy95, Guest, loveyaoigirl4ever, and SPN Mum for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who favourited/alerted.**

**4. Reviews make me smile!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Sam almost smiled when the Impala drove through the chain-link gates of Singer Salvage. It had been a long time since he'd seen Bobby and he missed the veteran hunter.

It was an hour or so after noon and the sun, still high in the sky, shone dully on the rusted junkers in the yard as John drove toward the house.

Dean let out a whoop, "Finally! Need to stretch my legs a bit."

Sam peered out the window at the familiar homestead ahead of them.

"You okay back there, Midget?" Dean joked, trying to keep them all lighthearted.

The Impala's door creaked as John stepped out, stretching his back and running a hand over his black-stubbled chin.

Dean exited the car next and moved to the passenger's door, peering at his younger brother through the glass.

Sam was suddenly afraid. Afraid of what Bobby would think of him now that he was a monster.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said, his voice slightly muffled from the glass separating them, "Let's go inside. I'm sure Bobby's got a huge pot of chili just waiting for us."

Sam opened the car door and stepped outside. Dean reached out to grab his arm but Sam brushed him off.

All three Winchester's turned to the homestead when they heard the _swish-bang _of the screen door opening and closing, the thud of the old hunter's boots on the wooden porch.

Robert Singer peered down at the three men in his yard, sawed-off shotgun held in his lax hands and a smile on his face.

John moved first, gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way across the yard and clasped hands with his old friend.

Sam was surprised Bobby had even let his father get as far as the porch. The last time the two hunters had seen each other, it seemed more likely that Bobby would blow a hole in John's midsection rather than give him a hug.

The youngest Winchester felt his brother nudge him forward, "C'mon Sammy."

Sam walked forward on numb legs. He sensed Dean right behind him but didn't feel the least bit comforted.

"Boys, don't dawdle around in the yard," John called to his sons, "And while you're at it, you might as well grab the duffels."

"Yes sir," Dean's voice answered directly over Sam's head.

Sam remained where he was as his brother opened the Impala's trunk and took the three green canvas duffle bags out. Sam held his hand out for his own bag but Dean danced out of arm's reach.

"I can handle this, Sammy," Dean told him in a mothering sort of way.

"I'm not a baby, Dean," Sam snapped, "I can carry my own duffle bag."

Dean's expression softened, "I know you ain't, Sammy. Just let me do this, okay?"

"Fine," Sam mumbled and turned away from his brother.

Sam managed a smile for Bobby as he climbed the porch steps. The ruddy-bearded hunter surprised the boy by pulling him into a strong bear-hug.

"We'll get ya fixed up good as new in no time," Bobby promised, "Just ya wait an' see."

"Okay, Bobby," Sam answered, wondering how the hunter had even gotten up the nerve to touch him.

Dean's impatient footsteps had Bobby releasing Sam to take in all three Winchesters.

"Well, c'mon inside," Bobby said in a falsely exasperated tone, "Yer food's getting' cold."

_W_

Instead of chili- as Dean had predicted- Bobby ladled out steaming helpings of his 'famous' Singer Mac and Cheese.

Sam stared down his bowl, the normally delicious dish suddenly unappetizing.

"You should really eat something, son," Bobby advised from the other side of the table, beside John.

"Not really hungry," Sam mumbled and stirred the macaroni around with his spoon.

"You barely ate any lunch, Sam," John spoke up, concern about his youngest son evident on his face.

Sam spooned up a mouthful of macaroni and cheese and took a tentative bite.

"There ya go, Midget," Dean said in a playful tone, nudging his younger brother, "Gotta keep your strength up."

Sam took another mouthful, if only to satisfy his brother and father. The casserole- a dish that a younger Sam Winchester would ask for every time he and Dean stayed at Bobby's- was utterly tasteless.

Sam fought the urge to spit the food out and swallowed.

"I'm finished," He said and pushed his bowl away.

"Sam-" John began but a look from Bobby silenced him.

The boy exited the kitchen, ignoring the scrape of a chair across the linoleum and the thud of his brother's boots on the hardwood.

Sam trudged slowly up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest bedroom he and Dean shared whenever they stayed at Bobby's. He closed the creaky wooden door behind him and lay down on the bed on the far side of the room without taking off his shoes.

Sam stared up at the white stucco ceiling, thinking.

He couldn't figure out why his father and brother cared about this so much. He was a monster, a werewolf- one of the creatures they were sworn to kill- and yet they refused to do to Sam what they'd done to countless others.

Why were they so optimistic about finding a cure? As far as anyone knew, there was no cure for someone turned to a werewolf other than to put them out of their misery.

It was all well and good for Dad and Dean to say that they would fix Sam, while the sun shone overhead and they were in the company of friends but in a month's time, when the full moon rose bright and bloated in the night sky and Sam caved to the power of the curse, would they still be as confident? Would they be as optimistic as they were now as they fired a silver bullet into his chest?

_SPN_

John shook his head helplessly as Dean slammed out the front door, the screen door giving a loud _crack _as he stomped into the salvage yard.

"How much do you know about werewolves?" John asked his old friend and Bobby rubbed his ruddy beard for a moment, thinking, before answering.

"I know how to kill them and what repels them," Bobby said slowly, "but there's not much information on how to change them back to human. As far as hunters are concerned, the only way to cure a werewolf is with a silver bullet."

John nodded sadly, he knew what other hunters thought about monsters that had once been human; hell, he had thought the same damn until a couple of nights ago! They could not be reformed, their humanity- however much of it still lingered within them- was lost forever and the best thing a good hunter could do was put them down.

"But I've got friends who aren't hunters," Bobby informed the grief-stricken father, his lips curved wryly underneath his reddish beard.

John returned his friend's smile and nodded, "I knew you'd have something up your sleeve."

"Did you doubt me for a second?" Bobby asked sarcastically, looking insulted.

_SPN_

Professor Abigail Noonan lifted a brow curiously when she heard the unmistakable Yankee accent of Bobby Singer.

"And what do I owe this pleasure?" She asked in a brittle tone. Abigail hated hunters. In her opinion, they were no better than poachers. She allowed that creatures like demons and vampires were dangerous but some hunters also got off on killing the non-violent beings, like the protective Chinese _shishi _or the banshees in Ireland that warned people of impending death. Bobby Singer was the only hunter she tolerated.

"I need to know how to reverse the werewolf curse," Bobby said carefully- his voice slightly muffled from static- and Abigail was even more intrigued.

"Well, cowboy, I don't know that off the top of my head-" Abigail began, holding the phone between her shoulder and chin while she began to tie her dark red hair back in a bun.

"Damn," Bobby swore, sounding slightly defeated.

"What is this about?" Abigail asked, her curiosity piqued even more.

"A friend of mine, a fellow hunter, well, his son had a bad run-in with a werewolf and was bitten," Bobby explained.

"Oh my God," Abigail gasped, her hands falling away from her head, her hair falling to her shoulders, "Is the lad alright?"

"Other than being a werewolf he's just peachy," Bobby grumbled and Abigail frowned.

"How old is the lad?" Abigail asked, her eyes darting to a family photo that showed her sitting on a picnic table with her husband, David, their daughter, Lacey and son, Harry.

"Just turned fourteen in May," Bobby informed her and Abigail's heart went out to the child's father, hunter or not.

"I'll see what I can find," Abigail whispered, "I can't promise anything but I'll do my best."

"Thanks Abby," Bobby's voice had a small smile in it, "You _are _the best."

The American hunter hung up first and Abigail found herself staring at her phone for a long time before she finally put it back in its cradle.

_SPN_

"So who is this friend of yours?" John asked Bobby as the older hunter prepared to dial the number.

"She's an old friend," Bobby explained, "I was over in London, hunting a boggart and Abby was, uh, trying to study the beast."

John raised both eyebrows at the grimace that formed on his friend's face when he mentioned this Abby.

"Long story short, Abby teaches Crypto-zoology and Medieval mythology at Oxford," Bobby shrugged, "I sometimes call her up to do research for me 'cause she's got even more books than I do _and _access to the school's library, of course."

"Huh," John commented and rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin, "Do you think she'll be able to help us?"

Bobby fought to keep the desperation from his voice, "I hope so. Way I see it, werewolves originally came from Europe and its likely some crazy old scholar or Pope or alchemist from the Middle Ages tried to find a cure for the curse."

John nodded. Many of the tricks hunters used to capture and kill monsters were centuries old. Some of the exorcism rituals for demons had probably even been used by Charlemagne himself.

"She won't go telling anyone about this? No hunter can catch wind of what's happened," John said suspiciously, his lack of trust flaring up even for a woman separated from Sam by the Atlantic Ocean.

Bobby chuckled, "Not in a million years. Abby doesn't like hunters too much. She won't turn tattle-tale on us."

John felt a small measure of relief wash through him as Bobby dialed the long-distance number. While Bobby's English friend researched the collection in Oxford, John and Dean could pour through the books right here in Singer's own library and working together though miles away, they would find a way to cure Sammy.

Don't worry son, John thought; I'll find a way to fix this, just you wait and see.

**1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound- Thanks, Sis!**

**2. Thanks to hugyourlittlebrother, Toumies, cold kagome, OtakTouch, SPN Mum, murphy9202, and LeighAnnWallace for reviewing!**

**3. Thanks to everyone who is following this story and alerted/favourited.**

**4. Reviews are love. **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sam heard Bobby coming up the stairs. The hunter was trying to be quiet but the boy still heard the softened stomping of his boots.

Bobby tapped lightly on the door before opening it. Sam had rolled over onto his side so that he wouldn't have to look at the man's face.

"You awake?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room, "I brought you a sandwich; peanut butter and banana, your favourite."

"Thanks but I'm not hungry," Sam mumbled, staring at the wall.

He felt the bed dip as Bobby sat down beside him, "You should really eat something, son."

Sam heaved a sigh and felt tears of sadness and anger prick his eyes, "What's the point?"

He heard a rasping sound as Bobby rubbed a hand through his ruddy beard, "I know things seem hopeless right now but believe you me, your Daddy and brother are going to find a cure for this even if it kills them. I called a good friend of mine, a professor, and she's helping us search out a way to fix this as well. You have people on your side, Sam. We're not going to abandon you. We all have faith that we'll find a way to cure you… so why don't you?"

Sam shrugged and sucked in a shaky breath, "I'm a monster, Bobby. A werewolf. I could hurt someone; kill someone and then where would I be? Would Dad and Dean still defend me? Huh? No, they'd put me down like any other monster. Why are they even trying to find a cure? There isn't one! I know there isn't! Why didn't Dad just shoot me when he had the chance?"

Bobby glowered at the fourteen-year old, "You're not too old that I can't put you over my knee, Sam Winchester!"

The teen looked over his shoulder at the hunter, fearing that the older man might actually follow through with his threat.

"I don't ever want to hear you talking like that again, you hear me?" Bobby growled and Sam nodded frantically. He sat up on the bed and grabbed his pillow, hugging it as he stared wide-eyed at the hunter.

Bobby continued to speak, his voice holding less anger now as he saw how pale the younger man had become, "You're not a monster and you never will be."

"Your brother and Daddy won't let anything happen to you," Bobby said, "They'll take care of you until we find a cure."

Sam nodded and sniffed a couple of times, "You don't hate me?"

Bobby was taken aback, "Why on earth would I hate you?"

Sam lowered his head, his long dark bangs obscuring his eyes, "Because I'm a mon- I mean a werewolf."

Bobby felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, "Oh Sam, I don't hate you. Neither does Dean or your father. What happened to you changes nothing. You're still Sam. Is that why you came up here, you thought we didn't love you anymore?"

Sheepishly, Sam nodded and gasped a little as Bobby bundled him into a tight hug.

"We're going to get through this, son. Don't you worry about it," Bobby rumbled as Sam returned the embrace.

Releasing his hold on Bobby, Sam chuckled a little and wiped his sleeve over his eyes, embarrassed.

"Thanks Bobby, I kind of needed that," Sam whispered to the grizzled hunter and Bobby smiled proudly through his ruddy beard.

"Know what else you need?" The older man asked.

Sam shook his head, "No, what?"

"You need to eat this here sandwich before your brother finds it," Bobby rumbled and Sam burst out laughing at the image of Dean sneaking into their room and stuffing the sandwich into his mouth like a chipmunk that had popped into his head.

_SPN_

Dean thudded down the porch steps and into the salvage yard. Hands clenched in fists he stared at the junkers around him.

This was all my fault, Dean thought angrily, if I had been paying more attention to Sam then he never would have been bitten. Sam must hate me. I should have protected him, that was my only job and I failed.

Dean sat down heavily on the gravel, cross-legged and feeling guilty about his brother.

A scrabbling noise coming from one of the dilapidated cars made Dean jump but he smiled when Winston Churchill- Bobby's 'guard' dog- poked his wet nose out from underneath the vehicle and sniffed excitedly. A five-year old Sam had given the mongrel the name Winston Churchill after seeing it in one of the history magazines Bobby subscribed to. Dean had tried to convince his younger brother to change the name to something conventional like Rover or Fido or Rex but Sam had refused and the dog wouldn't listen to any other moniker Dean could think of.

The mutt sauntered right up to Dean, tail wagging and looking for affection.

"Hey boy," Dean scratched Winston's ears and the dog sighed with pleasure.

The screen door slapped open and Sam came running down the stairs toward his brother, half of a sandwich clutched in his hand.

Dean stood and brushed off the seat of his pants, "You okay, Sammy?"

His brother nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Winston will probably be your new best friend if you give him some of that," Dean smiled and pointed at the spot where the dog had been standing only minutes before.

"Where'd he go?" Dean wondered out loud, and called the dog's name.

"It's alright," Sam shrugged but Dean could see that his younger brother was hurt.

"He's probably around here somewhere," Dean continued, trying to cheer his sibling up, "Might have caught the scent of a cat or something."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, "A cat."

Dean frowned. He wondered if the dog could actually tell that Sam was different now. He wondered if Winston could tell that there was a predator far more dangerous than himself in the area.

Dean's gaze shot to his brother's retreating back as he heard the crunch of gravel beneath Sam's sneakers.

"Sammy, wait!" Dean called but his brother ignored him, the screen door slapping shut in his wake.

"Damn it," Dean muttered and crouched down, picking up a handful of pebbles and began tossing them at the rusted-out Pontiac in front of him.

_SPN_

Abigail Noonan slipped her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. The light from the green glass-shaded banker's lamp combined with the tiny script she was reading was giving her a throbbing headache.

Leaning back in her chair, Abigail peered around the quiet library. She was alone in the basement- where the oldest archives were kept- and the silence was starting to become creepy. Abigail had been sifting through dusty, fragile tomes for close to five hours and had found nothing that could help Bobby's friend.

"Bloody Hell," Abigail swore and stared down at the book she was currently pursuing.

Five hours of searching and all Abigail had found was how to kill werewolves; everything from silver to holy water and cloves and iron was believed to exterminate the poor creatures.

There's got to be something about a cure, Abigail thought to herself for the hundredth time.

She stood and put her hands on the small of her back, stretching as she peered around her tiny corner of the library.

Abandoning her post for a moment, Abigail walked between the aisles of shelves, lips pursed in a frown as she sought out something, _anything _that could help Bobby.

It was growing late and she knew should get home to her family. But Abigail's mind was on another family, a family she had never met and probably would never meet. Abigail could not stop thinking about the little boy Bobby had spoken of, a child only a year or so older than her own son, Harry.

With a heavy sigh, Abigail Noonan ran her fingers through her hair, disheveling it, and turned back to the desk she had so recently occupied.

Racking her mind, Abigail fought to recall if she had ever read anything concerning a cure for lycanthrope in any of the books surrounding her. If Oxford proved fruitless, Abigail knew her way around Eton and Cambridge. Even a trip to a public library could reveal some half-forgotten myth or legend- something that had been useful to Abigail in the past.

Squinting in the green-hued light of the banker's lamp, Professor Noonan sat back down and shuffled the books around as though hoping some new information would appear where it had been hidden before.

Opening one thick text, its cover made of beautifully crafted leather and its pages gold-leafed, Abigail settled in for a few more hours of research, praying that the cure for the unfortunate lad wouldn't come in the form of a silver bullet.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound.**

**2. Thanks to hugyourlittlebrother, cold kagome, SPN Mum, Souless666, horsegirlrule, PhantomBrat, Lucydolly22, and LeighAnnWallace for reviewing.**

**3. Please leave a review! They're wonderful to read!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Weeks passed with no one coming any closer to finding a cure for the werewolf curse. It was now only a handful of days before the full moon and Sam was becoming more and more despondent and John, Dean and Bobby were becoming more and more anxious.

"I thought you said this professor friend of yours could help!" John exclaimed, exasperated, as he closed the cover of yet another useless tome of Bobby's.

The veteran hunter glared at the younger man, "I said I _hoped _that Abby would be able to help. Clean the wax outta yer ears!"

John glowered at Bobby, clearly not pleased with the other man's tone and was just about to snap at his friend and mentor when Dean spoke up, "There's still time; seven days is a ton of time! We'll find a cure before the full moon!"

Both men turned to the eighteen-year old, their anger simmering down and both looked guiltily at one another. Now was not the time to be picking a fight. Now was the time to work hard to find a way to cure the youngest member of their family. Speaking of…

"Dean, why don't you make some lunch and bring some up to Sam?" John asked his eldest. It was an hour past noon and although the father was not thinking of eating, he knew his boys should have something.

"Shouldn't I help you research?" Dean asked, anxious to find some way of curing his brother.

John shook his head, "You've been reading all morning; go spend some time with Sam. I'm sure he'd like the company."

"Okay," Dean said hesitantly and made his way into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and began rummaging through its contents.

_SPN_

John Winchester sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been nearly a month and all they had found was a laundry-list of ways to _kill _werewolves. It appeared that no one in history was all that concerned with curing the infected person and seemed partial to burning them at the stake, shooting them with silver, drowning them or cutting off their heads instead.

John was starting to lose faith that they would ever cure his boy.

What happens if we can't? Sam's going to be a ravenous monster in a matter of days! How do we cope with something like that?

Seeming to have read his friend's mind, Bobby spoke up, keeping his voice low because Dean was only in the next room, making lunch for his brother.

"John, we need to have a Plan B in case we don't find a cure before the full moon."

Bobby would have said something sooner but he knew the Winchesters were hanging onto the hope that they'd find a miracle cure before a month ran out and he was loathe to be the one to burst that fragile bubble.

John nodded, "What are you thinking? We have to be careful, no one can know about this."

Bobby's eyebrows knitted together and he swiped his baseball cap off to scratch at his head.

"If we don't find a cure before the full moon, Sammy's gonna change, there's no doubt about that. I've got a friend up in Juneau who hunts werewolves- they're practically endemic up there- and I can ask him for some things we'll need. You… ah… you and Dean may not like it but we're gonna have to keep an eye on Sam, keep 'im quiet and the like… don't want any nosy neighbours poking around just as much as we can't have any hunters find out about your boy."

John's eyes darkened. He knew that Bobby would not let any harm come to his son but he hated the words that were coming out of the fellow hunter's mouth.

Bobby knew that John may hate him for what had to be done but they had to protect Sam any way they could.

"Do it Bobby," John practically growled, "Call your friend and get whatever supplies you need."

_SPN_

Dean stared down at the cheese and onion sandwiches he had made. Sam was going to eat if Dean had to force-feed him.

His little brother had grown quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for Dean's liking and merely picked at whatever food he was served.

The claw wounds on Sam's chest had healed so completely that they were practically invisible now. The only mark that remained was the bite on Sam's shoulder that stayed as a raised, pinkish scar.

Dean climbed the stairs carefully, balancing the saucers in one hand while holding the railing with the other.

He didn't know how many times he'd told his little brother that they would find a cure, it had become something of a mantra and yet, despite all the reassurances, Dean was starting to feel as if they'd never find a way to fix Sam.

Dean's expression turned determined. Even if they couldn't cure Sam there was no way they were going to shoot him! The very thought of pointing a gun loaded with silver at his little brother made Dean recoil in disgust. He could barely even believe his own father had been so ready to put Sam down like a monster the very night he'd been attacked. Although Dean would never tell his father, he resented John for even _thinking _he could kill Sam. He knew that they had both been panicking but the idea of his Dad shooting his brother completely floored Dean, never mind the fact that John hadn't been able to go through with it.

Dean pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and peeked inside to make sure Sam was awake.

His brother was lying on his back in bed- still wearing the sweat pants and t-shirt he used as pajamas- with his hands limp at his sides and his eyes wide open.

He looks like a corpse, Dean thought for a moment before stepping into the room and clearing his throat.

"Made you some lunch, Sammy."

"I'm not really hungry," Sam muttered without taking his gaze away from the ceiling.

Dean sighed and approached his brother. He sat down on the bed across from Sam and set the saucers down on the nightstand between the beds.

"You barely ate breakfast," Dean pressed, "You've got to be hungry."

"No thanks," Sam replied.

Dean didn't answer but picked up his own sandwich and took a large bite of it.

"Mmmmm," Dean spoke as he chewed, "This is _soooo _tasty. Too bad you don't want any though."

Sam didn't even turn to look at his brother. His nostrils flared and he frowned, "Is that onion?"

"Yup," Dean replied, "And Cheddar."

Sam's nose crinkled, "That's gross, Dean."

"No more gross than peanut butter and banana," Dean smirked, "Only chocolate has a right to go with peanut butter."

Sam didn't answer like Dean hoped he would, "Well, if you're not hungry for onion and cheese, what are you hungry for?"

Sam didn't make a sound. His thoughts immediately turned to the nightmares he'd been having more and more frequently. He dreamt of blood and meat and unholy appetites.

Dean knew about the nightmares, he would wake up in the middle of the night to find Sam crawling into bed with him- something his brother had not done since he was a toddler- and he'd murmur sleepily to his little brother that everything was going to be okay. Dean imagined Sam was reliving the werewolf attack and so never asked his brother about the dreams.

Dean finished his own sandwich and tried once again to get his brother to eat.

"Do I have to tell Dad you're skipping lunch?" Dean didn't like being a snitch but Sam not eating was no joke. Dean hoped that his brother's pride would kick in and he'd eat the sandwich so he wouldn't have to be browbeaten by their father.

"You can if you want," Sam answered noncommittally and rolled over onto his side so that his back was to his brother.

Anger flared up inside Dean and he grabbed his brother's shoulder, forcibly turning him.

"Damn it Sam! Why are you doing this? Huh? What are you hoping to achieve? Are you trying to make yourself sick? 'Cause that's what's going to happen if you don't eat!"

Sam's eyes filled with tears, "I can't eat, Dean… not that."

Dean sat back, slightly stunned by his brother's reaction; he'd expected his moody teenage sibling to snap at him.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, "What's wrong?"

Sam sniffed and sat up, "I don't know… I don't know why… but food… ever since I was bitten… it just tastes… like… like ashes… it doesn't taste right anymore…"

Dean opened his mouth, "Why didn't you say something? Why did you keep eating if it tasted like shit?"

Sam shook his head, "I didn't want to scare you and Dad."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "It would take a lot more than that to scare us, Sammy."

Sam lowered his head, sadly.

"So, uh, what do you want to eat?" Dean asked, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.

Sam didn't answer for a long time and Dean wasn't sure if his brother was going to reply before he muttered, "Meat."

Dean sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, I'll fry you up some bacon, how does that sound?"

"Sure," Sam replied softly and Dean stood, gathering up the saucers and uneaten sandwich, and left the room, feeling more than a little uneasy.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to BerserkerHellHound for editing!**

**2. Thanks to cold kagome, Souless666, SPN Mum, LeighAnnWallace, Doctor's Other Companion, Lucydolly22, l1, quoththeraven5, and my Guests for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who favourited/alerted/followed.**

**4. Please review! They make me smile.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Dean heard his father and Bobby get up from their spots in the living room, curious no doubt as to why he was cooking up a package of bacon in the middle of the day.

"Everything alright, son?" Bobby's voice asked from the doorway.

Without turning around, Dean shrugged, "Sam's been bitten by a werewolf. How can things get worse?"

"_Dean_," John said in a warning tone and his son turned to face the older hunters.

"Sam can't eat… can't stomach normal food," Dean's lip trembled a little bit, "Said it tastes like… ashes…"

Both men raised their eyebrows.

"How long has this been going on?" Bobby asked.

Dean looked at his father, "Said it started after he was bitten… remember Bobby's Mac n'Cheese? Kid wouldn't eat it."

John wiped a hand over his face, "Jesus, Bobby. What does that mean?"

The older hunter shrugged, "Dunno. Never thought to look into it. All I've ever been concerned about was killing werewolves before they decided to chew on some poor sap."

John frowned, "Surely there are other people… other werewolves who experience the same thing?"

Bobby shrugged, "Maybe the venom affects everyone differently."

John nodded. Bobby knew just about as much as he did when it came to werewolves. This was new territory for all of them and they would all need to learn the rules.

The smell of sizzling bacon soon filled the small kitchen and Dean peered at the crispy strips- Sam always insisted his bacon be cooked until it was nearly black- and slid a half dozen of them onto a plate.

With Bobby and his Dad following, Dean mounted the stairs again, hoping that his brother would eat this time.

Knocking on the door quietly, Dean peered inside and saw Sam was still lying on the bed where he'd left him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said softly, "I brought you some bacon."

The three older men watched as the boy's nose twitched as though he was scenting the air and he sat up, looking curious.

Dean sat on the opposite bed and handed the plate to his brother. Sam took the offered dish eagerly and picked up a strip of bacon, sniffing it- apparently not even aware of what he was doing- and took a large bite.

"Sam," Bobby spoke up, "Son, Dean told us about the food… is there anything else that's… different."

Sam's gaze turned to the plate in his lap as he chewed, ashamed and didn't look up until he'd finished the first piece of bacon.

"I think my sense of smell is better," Sam mumbled.

"Okay," John's shoulders slumped a little in relief, "Is that it?"

"And… my eyesight…" Sam whispered, picking up a second strip of bacon and fiddling with it.

"S'not so bad," Bobby said, nodding.

John had to agree. All of these things could be taken care of, hidden from prying hunter eyes.

"Why don't you finish your lunch and then go outside with your brother for some target practice?" John suggested casually, knowing that his boys would do as he said even if it wasn't an order.

"Yes sir," Dean and Sam agreed in unison.

The two older hunters left the brothers in peace and went back to the pile of as-yet-unhelpful tomes sitting in the living room.

Bobby sighed as he sat down at his desk, "I'll call my friend once the boys go out… don't want 'em overhearing, you know?"

John nodded and stared down at the open book on the desk- it showed a woodcut of a werewolf biting a woman nearly clean in half- and shut the text in disgust.

_SPN_

"Wow Sammy, you weren't kidding when you said you have super vision now!" Dean exclaimed as his brother hit every target at twenty, forty, sixty and eighty feet away.

Sam gave a shy smile at his brother's praise. Maybe something good could come of this curse after all. He would certainly be a more effective hunter.

"I wonder how far you can see," Dean thought out loud and proceeded to move the target from eighty to a hundred feet away.

Stepping out of the way, Dean watched in amazement as Sam hit a bull's eye on the first shot.

Jogging back to his younger brother, Dean suddenly had an idea.

"Let's see if your sense of smell is as good as you think it is," he suggested.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, putting the safety on his gun and dropping it into the duffel bag they'd brought outside with them.

"Play Hide N' Seek, of course," Dean wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Sam looked at his older brother incredulously.

"Look, you count to a thousand and I'll go hide and we'll see if you can find me using your sense of smell," Dean said confidently.

Sam shrugged, "Okay."

Dean leaped up and was already starting away from his brother, "And no cheating!"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle and hid his face against the nearest tree to begin counting.

_SPN_

Bobby peered out of the back door as he held the phone receiver to his ear. John's boys had been out in the small wooded area just off his property for about a half hour.

"Hey Marty," the veteran hunter greeted his Alaskan friend, "It's Bobby Singer."

"Singer! Haven't heard from you in ages! What's up?" Martin Coslaw asked, his voice faint and fuzzy from the long distance call.

"Well, Marty I'm calling in a favour," Bobby said, keeping an eye out for Sam and Dean.

"What can I do ya for?" The hunter asked and chuckled.

"I need you to send me down some equipment," Bobby said vaguely, knowing that Coslaw would know what he meant.

"What? Can't you get your own? Why do you need mine?" Marty asked in a playful tone.

"Werewolves aren't as much trouble this far south," Bobby grumbled, "And besides, you're the best hunter in Alaska."

"You flatter me. Okay," Marty sighed, "But I better see my stuff again. Don't conveniently forget you borrowed it from me or I'll have to start charging interest."

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumped, "I got it."

"So, what do you need?" Marty listened as Bobby told him what he required.

_SPN_

John ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. He lifted the bottle of beer to his mouth and took a healthy swig. He was standing in the middle of the careworn kitchen, unsure of exactly what to do with himself right then.

He tried not to listen into Bobby's conversation. He knew that the older hunter meant well and that he loved Sam and Dean like they were his own sons. He knew Bobby was doing everything he could to think of any situation that might occur and trying to make things a little bit easier on them all.

John's gaze traveled to the Classic Car calendar pinned to the wall by the refrigerator and saw that Bobby had circled the day of the full moon in red marker.

John closed his eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was already starting to get antsy, restless, but he knew his boys needed him. Sam needed him.

"Huh", John chuckled humorlessly, "The one time my son really needs me and I can't do a damn thing to help him."

John knew that wasn't true though. He had been searching through Bobby's books like there was no tomorrow in an effort to find something, anything that could help them cure his youngest.

The ex-Marine wanted to do more than just read a bunch of dusty old books though. He was more used to going out and physically fixing the problem- talking to people, killing monsters- but all of those skills were moot now.

John looked up when Bobby walked into the small kitchen, having just ended his long-distance call.

"Well?" the younger hunter asked and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Bobby shrugged, "Marty was more'n willing to help me out. Said he'd lend me some of his stuff."

"That's good isn't it?" John didn't like how his friend didn't seem too pleased with this bit of luck.

"Ayuh," Bobby agreed, "But you gotta remember, John, that Coslaw _hunts _werewolves, he doesn't have any interest in preserving them."

John glowered slightly, not liking the sound of that.

"Don't worry, John," Bobby assured the younger man, "I am going to make sure nothing hurts Sam."

John's shoulders slumped, "I know that, Bobby."

"We've just gotta be prepared in case Sam does transform," Bobby clapped a hand on his friend's broad shoulder.

"Couldn't you get me a cold one?" the grizzled hunter asked John with a wry smile.

John smiled back and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a beer and handing it over to the older man.

"We'll get through this, John," Bobby muttered, "One way or another."

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to BerserkerHellHound for editing.**

**2. The name of Bobby's friend- Marty Coslaw- was taken from the protagonist of Stephen King's **_**Cycle Of A Werewolf. **_

**3. Thanks to Lucydolly22, L.A.H.H, SPN Mum, Dean Winchester's Play Thing, LeighAnnWallace, quoththeraven5, and my Guests for reviewing.**

**4. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited/followed.**

**5. Please review. I love reading your comments!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Abigail Noonan stared at the words written in the ancient text sitting before her. She blinked her eyes and the words were still there, a little faded from the centuries but as clear as day to the professor.

Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation and her fingers itched to take hold of her cell phone and dial Bobby Singer's number.

This was it- the cure they had been looking for!

"Thank you, Ovid," Abigail said out loud gratefully and glanced at her watch, frowning- it would be the middle of the night in South Dakota- and mussed her hair in frustration.

"Bloody Hell," she mumbled and fished her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.

_SPN_

Bobby Singer rolled out of bed, the urgent ringing of the telephone demanding attention.

"Who's calling at this hour?" the hunter grumbled sleepily as he stumbled out of his room and down the hallway.

He paused when Dean's head poked out from the doorway of the guest bedroom, "Go back to bed, son. It's nothing you gotta worry about."

Dean grumbled a reply and retreated back into the room, closing the door behind him.

Stomping down the stairs, Bobby was met with the looming figure of John Winchester who had previously been sleeping on the couch in the living room.

"S'probably some idiot rookie who thinks that a stake to the heart'll kill a vamp," Bobby grumped to the younger hunter.

John didn't comment but followed his friend into the kitchen and sat down at the dinner table when Bobby turned on the overhead light and grabbed the phone from the cradle on the wall.

"What the hell you callin' me in the middle of the night for?" Bobby greeted whoever was unfortunate enough to disturb his rest.

"I know it's late," Abigail's accented voice apologized, sounding fuzzy from the tenuous connection- and perhaps some lack of sleep on her part- but oh so welcome at the same time.

"Abby," Bobby glanced at his fellow hunter, seeing hope bloom in John's features when he heard the name spoken out loud.

"I think I've found it Bobby," Abby continued, "A cure. The cure."

"You sure?" The veteran hunter asked, not wanting to get his hopes up just yet. John's chair squeaked against the linoleum as he moved to stand beside his friend.

"It's here," Abby sighed, "Found it in a rare edition of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_."

"Well, spill girl," Bobby couldn't help but smile.

Before Abby could speak though, Bobby's attention was distracted by the sound of feet pounding on the staircase.

Dean practically ran into the kitchen, stopping only when he collided with the table. Sam followed behind his brother at a more subdued pace, a sheepish look on his young face.

"Boys," John said heavily, "Go back to bed."

"No way!" Dean argued, "This is about Sam, isn't it? I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on and I'm not waiting 'til morning to find out if we can fix this."

John looked like he wanted to order his children back upstairs but then he just sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, "Alright, stay down here if you like but be quiet."

The brothers nodded and Dean sat down on the table. Sam pulled out one of the chairs, not even bothering to turn it around so that he rested his arms on the top of the backrest.

"The whole family's here," Bobby told his British friend.

"The more the merrier," Abigail answered, "Alright, there's a potion that's meant to stop the transformations and it must be drunk _before _the victim's first full moon."

Bobby let out a deep breath; there were only four days until that happened. It was genuine luck that Abby had found the potion when she had.

"Alright, I'll tell you the ingredients first: holy water, silver shavings, the leaves and flowers of the hellebore plant, and werewolf venom," Abby spoke slowly as though she was translating the list as she read it.

"That's it?" Bobby asked incredulously. Nothing could be that easy.

"That's it," Abigail confirmed and Bobby looked at his friend to see a wide smile plastered across his face.

"The hardest thing to get our hands on will be the werewolf venom but-" Bobby began but Abigail interrupted.

"Hold on, Bobby," the professor said, "there's something written in the margin… you don't just need any regular werewolf's venom, it has to come from the werewolf that bit the victim."

Bobby's heart sank at the words, "Are you sure, Abby?"

"Yeah," the woman's tone belied the fact that she knew she had just given bad news.

"Balls!" Bobby cursed and raked his fingers through his thinning, reddish hair.

"What is it, Bobby?" John's voice questioned over Abby as she tried to speak again.

"I'll keep looking," the professor promised, "there's still time. Don't give up just yet."

"We won't… and thanks for doing this Abby," Bobby told her.

"I just wish I had good news," the British woman apologized.

"You will," Bobby assured her and hung up the phone.

Three pairs of eyes stared at the grizzled hunter, willing him to speak.

"Did your friend find something?" John asked first.

"She did," Bobby didn't elaborate and sighed.

"And?" Dean stood up and approached the older man, "We can cure Sam, can't we?"

"Abby found a potion; all it needs to work is some flowers, holy water, silver and werewolf venom," Bobby said slowly, reluctant to see the disappointed looks on the Winchesters' faces.

"Werewolf venom?" John asked, "Why?"

Bobby shrugged, "Maybe it cancels out the venom already in the person's system."

"Then what's wrong? We can get all that crap can't we?" Dean asked, his tone practically begging Bobby to say yes.

"The venom needed for the potion has to come from the werewolf that bit Sam," Bobby told the small family sadly.

If John had done his job right, the werewolf from Devils Lake would be nothing but a pile of ash and charred bones by now.

"No," John growled, "No, no, this can't be happening. We're so close. There has to be another way."

Bobby shrugged, "Abby's looking into it, John."

The younger man shook his head, "Don't give me that, Bobby! Don't you tell me that."

Bobby looked helplessly at his friend. John knew this was a chance they had to take. He couldn't help that the younger hunter had put so much faith in the slim chance that someone had tried to find a cure for lycanthrope instead of just eradicating the monsters.

"This ain't the end of the world, John," Bobby growled, suddenly angry at the father of two, "Sam's not dead! He's alive and if we do things right he'll stay that way!"

John turned on the older man, "Don't you dare tell me that this isn't the end of the world! What are we supposed to do if there's no cure? Huh? You tell me! You tell me!"

Bobby's gaze slipped to the two boys who were watching them in stunned silence. He had almost forgotten they were in the room.

"It's late and we're all tired," Bobby tried to be the mature one and calm his friend, "Why don't we sleep on things."

John looked like he was about to clock Bobby but then he grumbled something unintelligible and shuffled into the living room.

"Go on upstairs, boys," Bobby told the brothers quietly.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered to his younger brother and slipped an arm around his shoulders as the two left the room, heading for the guest bedroom upstairs.

Bobby made his way to the liquor cabinet and pulled down a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring himself a shot and stood, staring at the amber liquid for a moment without taking a drink.

He knew that John was stressed. Who wouldn't be? But Bobby wondered if John was really up to the task of taking care of a boy- a child really- who would change into a monster every month.

The hunting lifestyle was hard on all the Winchesters and Bobby didn't want to imagine what it would be like if they threw a case of lycanthrope into the mix.

Bobby wished he knew what to do. He wished he had all the answers. He wished he knew what to say to make this a little more bearable.

Bobby knew that John had a habit of making everything about himself and the older hunter hoped that his friend would remember that this was about Sam.

The grizzled hunter shook his head and threw back the shot of Jack. Setting the glass in the sink, Bobby turned out the kitchen light and headed for the stairs.

The living room was unnaturally quiet- if John was sleeping he's have been sawing logs- and Bobby imagined he could feel the younger hunter's eyes following him as he climbed the stairs.

Bobby dared to believe things would be better in the morning. Or if not better, at least a little less hostile. Hopefully John would have simmered down and taken time to think things through. Bobby knew he wasn't going to get anymore sleep as it was, his thoughts already on his friend and the fate of his youngest son.

Why'd you have to take a boy on a man's hunt? Bobby wondered as he reached the landing and turned down the hallway towards his own bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound.**

**2. Thanks to LAHH, SPN Mum, cold kagome, seaspn, Souless666, Aceswriting, quoththeraven5, LeighAnnWallace, Lucydolly22, serenity444, and TeamEtharahRules for reviewing.**

**3. Thanks to everyone who favourited/followed/alerted.**

**4. Please leave a review! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Sam stared at the heaping plate of bacon and scrambled eggs Bobby sat in front of him but didn't feel like eating at all.

Dean nudged his younger sibling with his shoulder, "C'mon Midget, eat up. Breakfast's the most important meal of the day."

Sam sighed and picked up his fork. He poked at the eggs without eating them.

John sipped at his cup of coffee when Bobby poured him one. He shook his head though when the older hunter offered him scrambled eggs from the pan.

"_John_," Bobby said pointedly and pushed some of the yellow mush onto the fellow hunter's plate. John needed to set a good example for his boys and he wouldn't do that by not eating.

The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes, "If I wanted someone to fuss over me, Bobby, I would have re-married."

Dean raised his eyes at his father's comment, his mouth full of eggs and toast.

"That's gross," Sam muttered at the sight of his brother's half-chewed food.

Dean smiled and stuck out his tongue.

"Yeah, that's really gonna build my appetite," Sam said sarcastically.

"Boys!" John rapped out.

Bobby turned his eyes skyward as he sat down across from John.

"Sam, eat your breakfast. Dean, keep your mouth closed," the eldest Winchester growled.

Dean grinned cheekily and dug into the eggs and toast on his plate with gusto. John seemed to be eating his scrambled eggs without really tasting them, washing them down with mouthfuls of coffee.

Sam stirred his eggs around the plate before setting down his fork and picking up a strip of bacon instead.

_W_

Sam smiled wanly as Dean tried in vain to call Winston Churchill. He sat on the bottom step of the porch while Dean crouched in the gravel driveway, a handful of bacon clutched in his outstretched hand.

"C'mon you dumb dog," Dean raised his voice cheerily and waved the bacon in what he hoped was a tempting way.

"He's not going to show," Sam insisted and scuffed at the gravel with his sneaker.

Dean stood and ran a hand through his short hair.

"I don't understand it," Dean muttered, "Churchill loves bacon. Maybe-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, "Give it up. He's not gonna come near me for all the bacon in the world."

The older boy grimaced, knowing his brother's words were true but unwilling to accept them.

"What do you want to do then?" Dean asked, trying to keep Sam occupied, keep his mind off the quickly approaching full moon.

Sam pushed himself off the porch steps and stood.

"Can I just be alone for a little bit? I just wanna think," Sam asked, peering up at his older brother with his patented 'puppy eyes'.

Dean shook his head, "No way, Midget. You're not going anywhere without me."

Sam's shoulders slumped, "I won't go far! I won't even leave the property!"

"Consider me your second shadow, little bro!" Dean exclaimed and gave his brother his best shit-eating grin.

Sam glared at Dean for a moment before mumbling his acceptance.

"If you're not going to give the dog that bacon, don't let it go to waste," Sam told his brother and Dean handed it over.

_SPN_

John turned away from the window when his sons disappeared behind one of Bobby's dilapidated cars.

He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. He had never felt as useless as he did right now. No, that wasn't quite right, the first time he'd felt as helpless as he did now was when his wife died right before his eyes and he'd been unable to do anything to save her.

John Winchester liked to believe he was in control and when he lost that, it shook him badly.

If that professor friend of Bobby's couldn't find a cure for Sam, John didn't know what they were going to do. There was no way his youngest would be able to tour the country, hunting the things that went bump in the night when he transformed into a werewolf every month. Although John had been unable to shoot his boy, that didn't mean other hunters would have such qualms. John Winchester's son or not, Sam had been bitten by a monster and was a threat to the safety of the civilian population.

John shook his head. Sam wasn't going to hurt anyone. They would take precautions; they knew what was coming and they would be ready for it. Just like everything else in his life, John told himself that he could keep this under control. His military background gave him precious experience in forming contingency plans in times of dire situations and he would use that to his advantage. There were a few hunters he _could _trust with the truth about Sam. Bobby Singer, of course, but also Pastor Jim Murphy and Caleb Blacker who were close to both of his boys and would do anything for them.

"I can see you've got yer thinking cap on," Bobby's voice startled the younger man from his reverie.

Turning to his friend, John shrugged, "I'm just trying to figure things out."

Bobby nodded, "Well, don't do anything drastic just yet. Abby's trying her damndest to find a cure."

John nodded and took the cup of coffee Bobby offered him.

"Sam seems to be taking all this pretty well," the grizzled hunter commented lightly.

John grunted in response, "He's the one who should be panicking right now."

Bobby chuckled, "He's a strong kid, you should know… And he's got his brother."

John took a sip of coffee, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have Dean. Since Devils Lake, he's been nothing but good to Sam, not that he usually isn't but… you know…"

"Yeah," Bobby grunted, "Well, we have you to thank for that."

John glanced up at his friend, unsure if he'd just been insulted somehow.

"Dean loves that boy," Bobby continued, "We both know he'd walk to the ends of the Earth for him."

John agreed silently; he'd seen siblings who'd tear out each other's throats as look at one another. He was proud that he had at least done one thing right by his sons.

Looking down into his coffee mug, John reminded himself that Sam and Dean were strong and if they could make it over this hurdle, and come out all the better for it, then so could he.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to L.A.H.H, SPN Mum, MunkieMagic, cold kagome, london'slonelyhearts, Souless666, quoththeraven5, TeamEtharahRules, LeighAnnWallace, Violet Eternity, Tiny wabbit and Guest for reviewing.**

**2. Thanks to everyone who alerted/followed/favourited.**

**3. Please leave a review! They brighten my days!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Sam was shaken rudely into consciousness by his older brother. Peeling his eyes open, Sam glared tiredly at Dean.

"What?" Sam ground out and curled up tight.

"You've been sleeping for hours, Sammy," Dean told him, "Dad wanted you up 'cause if you sleep for any long you'll be up all night."

Sam rolled his eyes but the idea of staying awake at night was oddly tempting.

"You didn't even eat anything for lunch," Dean shook his brother's shoulder again and Sam finally sat up.

The boys had walked all around Bobby's property and even down the road for a few miles before Dean had to call it quits. Reluctantly, Sam had agreed to return back to Singer Salvage with his brother and had promptly gone up to the guest bedroom they shared, complaining that he was tired.

Sam wasn't _tired_ exactly but something was telling him he should be asleep. Sam had briefly wondered if it was a werewolf thing, maybe because the curse took place during the light of a full moon, but he wasn't sure since no hunter really cared about that sort of stuff.

Although not tired, Sam adamantly refused to have a nap like he was in Kindergarten; he curled up on his bed and closed his eyes. A few moments to rest his eyes had instead turned into hours of deep sleep that had only been broken by his brother's annoying jostling of his shoulder.

"I'm up!" Sam snapped at Dean and shoved his hand away.

His brother took a couple of steps back, "Okay, okay."

Sam hung his head for a moment, "I'm sorry."

Dean nodded his acceptance of his brother's apology, "Bobby made grilled cheese."

Sam slowly climbed out of bed, mussing his dark hair with one hand and followed Dean downstairs. His stomach growled loudly and he heard Dean chuckle as they set foot on the main floor.

"Somebody's hungry," Dean smirked and Sam scowled at him. He felt as though he hadn't eaten in days even though he had bacon for breakfast.

Maybe it's another werewolf thing, Sam thought and wished there was some way of knowing what exactly to expect from the curse.

Dean sat down eagerly at the kitchen table, mouth watering in anticipation of lunch. Sam took a seat across from him and propped his elbows on the table, chin resting on the heel of one hand as he tried to ignore the scent of fried bread and cheese.

Bobby slipped a sandwich onto Dean's plate and the young man quickly picked up one half and was soon munching away happily.

"Wheresth Dadth?" Dean asked through a mouthful and swallowed.

"I sent him into town to get some things for Sam," Bobby explained, "Food that your brother will like."

Dean nodded and turned to look at his sibling but found that Sam was no longer sitting across from him.

"What the heck?" Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise. No way could the kid have been that quiet!

Bobby smirked and plopped a second sandwich down on Dean's plate.

_W_

Sam stepped outside and squinted up sun, already past its apex but still very hot. He could hear cicadas chirruping loudly in the small copse of trees behind Bobby's house.

Sam was so confused. Bobby had told him he wasn't a monster but that didn't mean that Sam wasn't scared. He was terrified. What if they couldn't find a cure? What if he was forced to transform every month? What if someone found out about him?

The boy heaved a sigh and crossed the yard, climbing into the cab of a rusted-out pickup truck that was missing its doors and curled up on the bench seat, inhaling the scent of dust and motor oil.

_SPN_

John Winchester grimaced as he filled his shopping cart with meat. Bacon and ham and whole chickens were piled high. The eldest Winchester made a point of picking out other food items too- frozen pizza, cans of baked beans, boxes of Kraft Dinner- so he at least didn't look quite like a crackpot. Before heading towards the check-out lines, John made a bee-line for the back of the store and grabbed a couple of six-packs- he had a feeling that he'd need them in the days to follow- and sighed sadly.

John didn't want to think about his youngest son having to eat pot roast for the rest of his life if they couldn't find a cure. He stood in line behind a young mother with a infant- one hand cradling her baby to her chest, the other gripping the handle of a plastic grocery basket- and tried to ignore the lump that formed in his throat.

He remembered when his own children were that small. Dean had been stubborn, even at that young age- waking up in the middle of the night just to cry for hours- but John remembered that time of his son's life fondly. John didn't think he'd trade those sleepless nights, his firstborn son cradled in his arms, for anything. Sam had been such a sweet baby, quiet as could be, with large green eyes and a tuft of dark brown hair that Mary had loved.

His sons weren't babies anymore. Sam and Dean were young men, hunters, but John still felt the need to protect them.

"Sir?" John startled, staring at the cashier.

"Oh, sorry," John mumbled and started putting his groceries onto the conveyer belt, his face actually burning with embarrassment underneath his beard.

The girl at the register raised an eyebrow when she saw all the protein John was buying but said nothing but the total price.

As quickly as possible, the hunter packed his groceries and exited the supermarket, anxious to get back to his sons.

John relaxed immediately once he was behind the wheel of his beloved Impala.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to Lucydolly22, OrionRedde, quoththeraven5, allwrong4life, cold kagome, L.A.H.H, Violet Eternity, Souless666, SamDeanLover28, SPN Mum and Guest for reviewing.**

**2. Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited, followed.**

**3. Keep sending reviews! There's only a few days left until the full moon!**


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